Why Throw Your Lives Away?
by Ruthibobs
Summary: "You have no chance No chance at all Why throw your lives away?" Prompt from a twitter user: "imagine if they'd just... not thrown their lives away" Also, because so few of these barricade fics can have happy endings (like, none of them).


The barricade was far from perfect but Enjolras had to believe it would hold. If he started to let himself doubt, then he knew he would not last the night. He was the leader. The Amis needed him to be constant or sure. Now was not the time for him to be wondering if the people really would rise.

Just then, a voice rang out from the other side of the barricade.

"You at the barricade listen to this! No one is coming to help you to fight. You're on your own, you have no friends. Give up your guns - or die!"

As one, every student turned to look at Enjolras. Taking a deep breath, he gave them a brave smile, one showing more courage and belief than he felt.

"Damn their voices, damn their lies!" he snarled. "They will see the people rise!" One by one, starting with Courfeyrac, the students joined in, repeating the words Enjolras had just spoken. Enjolras looked round the group and felt pride rise at their conviction - a conviction he had helped build. His eyes passed over Grantaire and he felt like sighing. Even the drunkard was speaking, albeit quietly, eyes fixed on Enjolras. The blonde leader nodded at him with a small smile before turning away.

The volunteer was returning, sneaking back down a small alley to join them and Enjolras hurried forwards the moment he caught sight of him.

"Well?" he demanded.

"I've done as I said I would," the man replied. "Their numbers are even larger than we thought, we will have to be cunning."

"Obviously. Tell us everything."

"They won't attack tonight. They want to starve you out first. Then, they'll attack from the right."

"Liar."

Enjolras's head shot round to face Gavroche, eyes demanding an explanation for the interruption. As Gavroche continued his eyes narrowed, head turning to face the volunteer- no, not the volunteer, the spy Javert. As Grantaire shouted out drunkenly and Jehan inquired what they were going to do with Javert, Enjolras decided he needed time to think before doing anything.

"Take him through there - the people can decide his fate."

"Take the bastard now and shoot him!" Courfeyrac cried, others adding their own voices to his call for revenge.

"We have work to do," Enjolras reminded them all quickly, ordering Combeferre to take Javert through to the cafe. Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose, the warning of the soldier breaking through again. _We're all dead_, his subconscious told him.

"Don't give up," he heard a quiet voice say from behind him, a voice he wasn't even entirely sure he heard.

"Grantaire," Enjolras replied softly, looking up at the man he didn't always call a friend but whom he considered one. "Whoever said I was giving up?"

"The look on your face. You can't give up."

"Then I won't."

* * *

The death of Eponine that night had hit them all hard, especially Marius, and Enjolras wasn't entirely sure what to do. The next morning, he was ready to give in, and by the looks of things his friends were not far behind.

"The people have not stirred," he sighed. "We are abandoned by those who still live in fear. The people have not hear." He hesitated before continuing. "Yet we will not abandon those who cannot hear. But let us not waste lives. All women, or those who are fathers of children, let them go from here." He looked round the group. "Good luck to those who are left."

"Gavroche!" he suddenly heard Courfeyrac scream and he span to face the baricade, seeing the boy disappear over to the other side as Combeferre threw himself at Courfeyrac, trying to prevent his friend from committing suicide by following the child. The law student could not prevent the tears from falling as he dropped to his knees at the first shot, flinching at the second, at the silence that followed, at the unfinished song Gavroche had been singing. "Gavroche," he whispered, now clinging to Combeferre's arm for support instead of trying to fight him off.

"You at the barricade listen to this!" suddenly interrupted their grief. Enjolras climbed the barricade slightly, in order to better see the officer shouting at them. He recognised the voice, it was the same as the night before. "The people of Paris sleep in their beds. You have no chance, no chance at all. Why throw your lives away?"

"Why indeed?" Enjolras murmured to himself, sinking down onto the nearest ledge. "Why?" The students stared up at him, unsure of what was going to happen now. They had never seen their leader looking so confused.

"What now?" Combeferre asked quietly, still comforting Courfeyrac.

"We will all die if we stay here," Enjolras admitted, not meeting any eyes. "Already two have died. I cannot allow more to."

"We made our decisions," Jehan argued. "We all chose to come here."

"I cannot let you die for a battle we cannot win," Enjolras snapped. "This fight will change nothing, I see that now. The people are not ready." Standing, he slipped off his favourite red jacket before slowly unbuttoning the white shirt, pulling it off and waving it in the air, high enough for the officer on the other side to see. "Okay," he called out. "If you can guarantee our safety, then we surrender. We will not fight. We will give up our guns."

Les Amis could not have been more shocked if he had declared that King to be righteous but, as always, they stood behind him, not fighting back as the soldiers arrested them. Enjolras stared at the ground, tears of failure which he could not hide pricking at his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to Courfeyrac as he was dragged past, but his friend ignored him, eyes still fixed on the corpse of Gavroche. It would take time for that wound to heal.

* * *

Enjolras had never been so thankful to come from a rich family. Talking his father into paying for the release of not only himself but also his nine friends had taken him six weeks, and he hoped none of the others had had to suffer during that time. He had been cast out of his family now, the scandal too great for them, but he didn't care. He wasn't planning on going back to university, instead he would find himself a job somewhere. Work with the people he had wanted to save, in the hopes that next time they would trust him more and rise with him.

"Enjolras."

Smiling, he embraced Combeferre as his friend approached, a relieved look on his face.

"I was not certain they would let you out," Combeferre admitted. "Everyone else got out last week, we've been sending a different person each day to wait for news of you."

"I was the leader," Enjolras shrugged. "Of course they kept me longer." He paused before continuing quietly. "How are Courfeyrac and Marius?"

"Starting to forgive you, but give them time. The wounds are still fresh." Enjolras nodded, understanding perfectly. "Oh, and Grantaire wants to buy you a drink," laughed Combeferre as they started to walk away. "Something about you finally seeing sense, even if he did ask you not to give up."

"Well I never did do what he said." Stopping in the doorway of the cafe, Enjolras looked round the group, meeting each persons eye and trying to convey personal message to every single one through his looks. He felt he succeeded. "Well gentlemen, it is good to be free."

"Hear hear," cried Grantaire. "And alive."

"And alive," murmured Enjolras, taking his normal seat. "I'll drink to that."


End file.
